the end is nigh
by parchment-hyena
Summary: [End!AU] Castiel has eternity, and nothing to lose.
1. Chapter 1

Heyyy i rewrote this chapter a little while ago, and i finally found the comic thing that inspired this, so i'll link it here in teh next chapter.

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He stumbles from the building, bleeding and worn; he's not sure he has ever been so tired. Cradling his arm closer to his chest, he pushes forward, one foot in front of the other, and stomps down on the well of emotion that thickens his throat and beats in his chest.

Castiel regrets. Oh, how does he _regret._

He has given everything for this damned planet; he has seen it razed and regrown so many times , and the one_ fucking_ time he decides that he'll care_,_ sacrifice himself for the humans, what does he get? A knife to the back. Stabbed in the back as the _humans _say. It's almost a physical pain. His wings are gone and the phantom flutters will never go away.

Maybe it's been a folly on his part. A more _profound _bond. What. A. Joke. Hysterical laughter bites at the back of his throat as he tips onto the side of the building, legs all but numb. Had he always been something so... expendable to Dean? He wants to say no, but who was he _fucking kidding_? His brothers and sisters have abandoned him, his _Father _long since, and the world is no longer a creation but a demonstration.

_God no longer cares._

"Ah—"

It hits harder than he thought it would, and he loses his breath. It's all that he can do to keep himself upright as his stomach flips. He inhales deeply. The back clearing is empty, not that he had expected there to be anyone else. At least, that's what he thinks at first glance.

He finds it occupied with the dead when he trips.

Castiel growls as he pushes himself up, and his stomach rolls. He's sick across the scraggly grass, and his last bit of willpower leaves him. He crashes heavily onto his left arm, and lays there, gasping. It takes what seems an eternity before he manages to roll over, putting himself under some low-lying foliage. The low hanging leaves of the bush tickle his ears.

Dean's milky green eyes stare back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

And that's all that this story has from the comic on [askendcas]. [tumblr] (if you check it out you'll see it easy peasy there's not much on that blog)

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_Were they getting too smart for you, Father?_

_Too independent?_

_They no longer needed us or You._

"Castiel."

Castiel starts, tensing, before forcing his body to relax. Turning his head, he squints up at the darkened figure of his brother. The white burns at his eyes, and he clenches his eyes shut. They burn. This is it. He'll die. Go to Heaven maybe. Or Hell, if it's even still boiling beneath his feet.

"Come to kill me, Brother?" he rasps, opening an eye to a slit. What he wouldn't do for a joint right now. Maybe Luci would be all up for last requests.

His face tightens, and something flashes through his eyes. It's gone before Castiel can even begin to wonder. "Oh, no, what kind of brother would I be if I did that? No, I've come to ensure that you _live_, Castiel."

Maybe it's the years without having to deal with his brothers and sisters, or demons or any other monster; maybe it's the years gone by without his Grace that lets him fall prey to the sharp jab to the space right between his eyes. Pain rushes from the spot, and he arches off the ground as his nerves catch _fire. _

"Live long and prosperous, _little brother_."

_Cain said to the Lord,"My punishment is too great to bear! Behold, You have driven me this day from the face of the ground; and from Your face I will be hidden, and I will be a vagrant and a wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me." But the Lord said to him, "Not so; anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over." Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him._ [Genesis 4:13-15]


	3. Chapter 3

Boop.

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Castiel doesn't know how long he lays next to Dean's corpse. Weeks, days, months, minutes, hours, years, seconds. Time blurs into nothing. The skin has already burst from swelling internal gases, and he's sure the stench of rotting flesh has soaked its way down to the marrow of his bones from being so close. If it were anyone else... he'd be gone, throwing himself into hordes but.

He can't just get up and leave him or it or what the fucking _hell whatever_.

Bugs are crawling through the eaten eye sockets, but he's transfixed; he can still see the vibrant jade green they had once been, shiny and bright. So lively, and jaded but not so much he'd _stab someone in the back oh father please please**please** annapleasegabrielbalthazar_**_p__lease_**—

Dean's lips quirk. "Looks like it's just you and me, Cas."

Castiel's lips twitch into a smile, and the edges of his eyes burn.

Then he blinks.

Rotten skin hangs around a skeletal mouth, teeth set into gums of black meat. A long centipede crawls from inside the corpse's mouth, and Castiel flinches. He rolls onto his back, and gasps, angry and sad and upset and devastated and _fucking grief? Had he l—_

He grabs at his hair, and squeezes his eyes shut, pulling into himself and onto his side away from the rotting flesh. They burn and burn and burn, and he will not cry, _he will **not cry.** _He doesn't deserve it. He can't. He doesn't have the fucking right at all, no no nonon_ono**no**—_

But he does; the fat, salty tears leak out, and something catches in his throat as his chest constricts.

Castiel breaks down, the sobs pitiful and pathetic as he tries to choke it all back.

The world has gotten so, so small.


	4. Chapter 4

okay so I promise it'll get slightly less depressing soon-ish (is this seriously as depressing as you guys say because I honestly don't know =w=;;)

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It's distressing. Fucking _gut wrenching._

Castiel swallows hard, dirty and sore and tired. He digs his fingers tightly into the empty rifle, and shuffles down the Croat riddled street with minimal fuss. Most hardly even give him a second glance, the more... _aware _ones stare after him, their gazes hungry but intelligent. Some start to swing in his direction, and he'll raise the gun, but they barely get a few seconds of a look at him before they look like they're almost _forced _away from him.

He wants... to die so fucking bad—_nothing works, he's tried and tried; he'd thrown himself into a river when he went back and found the base camp a ghost town, and woke somewhere else; he's starved himself, but he just won't **fucking die. **Why won't I die, whywhywhyit'snotfairnotfairnot**fair.**_

"_He—ell.. o?_"

The high-strung human startles badly, startling a few of the wandering Croatoans, and nearly trips on the curb as he stumbles backwards. Castiel whips his head around, heart pounding, racing _who is that people are still alive wherewhere**where?**_

"_Tes—ting... 1... 3.._"

It takes much longer than he wishes to admit, but he finally notices the voice coming from his back pocket. His radio hasn't worked for days now, after finding the base camp... so why would it work now? Here? Wherever here is. Stuffing the rifle under his arm, he pulls the small device from his pocket and almost smacks it against his ear in his haste.

"_Hell—o? Any survivors... there? Channel...-five is... communications. Anyone hearing... Amity Park... limit... pick-up..._ _waiting... three hours..._"

He... He wants to believe in this so bad it _hurts._

_What if it's just Lucifer toying with you, _niggles a little voice, and Castiel flinches. What if it _is _just Lucifer playing with him, and he'd be walking right into it? Anger ripples into existence, flooding his chest with a heat so hot it _burns_ and he rears his arm back, the radio clenched tightly in his fingers.

It's so fragile. Easily. Easily, it would crack against the cement. So, so easily. It would splinter and crack and go everywhere, the voice would go away and never come back_—_

"_... Safe..._"

And then the rage is gone, slipping away like mist between his fingers, and Castiel is just tired.


	5. Chapter 5

beep

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The first flakes stun him.

It's mid-june, and a snow flurry is slipping by. Craning his neck, he stares up at the sky and squints at the small patch of dark clouds. The tiny pinpricks of cold settle lazily on his face, and he blinks before looking down at himself. He's completely underdressed but he can't be that far north... can he? A snarl curls onto his face at the thought, the boiling and spontaneous anger bubbling under his skin.

He trudges on. The heat dissipates within a few hours, and by then the temperature has dropped so much he can see each of his breaths. Castiel figures he won't make it to Amity Park—Wisconsin. He's in _fucking Wisconsin_—for the supposed pick up in two days as the snowflakes thicken in intensity and he huddles under an overpass in a car in mostly okay shape. It does almost next to nothing to keep the cold's curling fingers out but he won't die anyway.

The snow blankets the ground thinly throughout the night, and it's gone by mid-morning, but that doesn't stop him from making a snow angel in the frigid white before he moves on.

Castiel wonders if he's going insane all over again.


	6. Chapter 6

=w=

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A thick expanse of glittering white stretches as far as the eye can see, and Castiel shades his eyes. He's never been one for Earth's geography but he's almost ready to throw in the towel at this point.

Slowly and steadily the snow reaches new heights up the legs of his tattered pants, going from his ankles to mid-shins, and what the actual fuck? He's freezing, and only about a mile out from the city's border if the corrected sign from an hour past had been telling the truth, the crossed out _Amity Park: 35__ Miles _rewritten haphazardly in bright green spray paint with _1.5 Miles_.

Less walking for him but the fucking snow _how?_

There's a noise from off the side of the shoulder, and Castiel whips around, fingers clenching at the memory of having discarded his empty rifle. A white head and two long ears peek out from behind a bare tree's trunk. It's just a snow hare. Its beady black eyes stare after him for naught but a moment before disappearing.

He releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the burn for oxygen washing over him in a stinging wave, and continues on.


End file.
